


A Taste for It

by garconne



Category: Hannibal (TV), King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 18:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6577837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garconne/pseuds/garconne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galahad accompanies Tristan on a long journey. Tristan is confusing and Galahad pines a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Taste for It

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by scrolling through all the glorious fanart on tumblr! (Reblog [here](http://providethemeat.tumblr.com/post/142968635324/a-taste-for-it-3k-words-of-fluffy-porn-for).)
> 
> Disclaimers:  
> \- Historical accuracy is not a thing I was striving for here, but if anything is just crazy wrong ff to tell me  
> \- I don't know where they're going ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Galahad had agreed to accompany Tristan without a moment’s hesitation. He’d been quietly elated when no one else had wanted to come along, picturing the two of them sharing stories and bonding on the open countryside.

What he had not anticipated was that the journey would be so miserably dull.

As they passed through an open field at bright midday, grass and wildflowers rippling under waves of wind, Galahad mused that he’d lost track of the hours they’d passed riding in silence. At least the scenery was agreeable.

But then, as they came to a range of small, rocky hills sometime later, Tristan abruptly stopped his horse and turned back to face him. Galahad was instantly alert, wondering if something was wrong. 

“We’ll pause here,” Tristan said. “There was a hot spring up those hills the last time I came this way. A long time ago, but it’s worth a look.”

Galahad nodded. They didn’t often rest in such good weather conditions, but the chill had chafed his bare knees numb and the thought of soaking in hot water nearly made him cry with joy. Some weeks before, the notion of disrobing together might have stirred a flutter of hope in his belly, but now all he could think of was being warm.

They dismounted their horses and scaled the rocky cliff, Galahad following close behind Tristan. The air was thin and his lungs and legs ached by the time they reached the blessed caverns, which sheltered them from the whistling wind.

To the profound delight of both, the pool was there, steaming and unoccupied.

“Fucking mother of god, Tristan, I could kiss you,” Galahad said with a laugh, his voice echoing in the cave. He dropped to the rocky ground to tear off his boots.

Tristan just smirked and bent down to test the water with his hand. “Not too hot,” he confirmed.

Galahad laughed again, having shed his clothes with haste, and stepped naked into the pool. The water came as a beautiful hot shock to his chilled skin.

“Oh hell, that’s divine,” he muttered.

Tristan was still working on his belt, his back turned. All at once Galahad’s butterflies returned. While he didn’t give a single shit about being naked himself, the idea that he was going to lay eyes on Tristan wound up his guts a bit. He swallowed and sank down into that blissful heat, hoping he wouldn’t have any real cause to hide his cock, but doing so in any case.

Sure enough, Galahad was glad he was sitting down when Tristan turned toward him. His body glistened in the indirect lighting of the cavern, the muscles of his long, lean legs shifting as he stepped into the hot pool. Galahad quickly fixed his gaze upward, only to linger on the patch of graying hair across Tristan’s chest. He averted his eyes, then, cursing himself for having starred so long.

Tristan grunted in pleasure as he sank down on the side across from Galahad. He tipped his head back to wet his hair, coming up dripping and pushing aside the wet strands that were stuck to his face. He was magnificent.

Galahad sighed and closed his eyes, leaning against the wall of the spring, letting himself unfurl in the heat. For a moment, he tried to believe that this was the best thing he could have hoped for, and that there was no reason to entertain foolish thoughts about anything intimate passing while the two of them shared the bath.

But there came the sounds of water rippling, and when Galahad opened his eyes, he found Tristan beside him.

“Turn around,” he said.

Galahad raised his eyebrows. For a moment he was frozen, and then he did as instructed.

“Why?” he asked nervously, his heartbeat drumming his ears.

Tristan only hummed in response and placed his strong, calloused hands on Galahad’s shoulders, sinking his thumbs into the muscle. Galahad flinched in response.

“Breathe deep,” Tristan said, working the stones beneath Galahad’s skin into clay again. “The heat helps release tension.”

“Uh-huh,” Galahad said, letting his body go limp. Mostly.

As Tristan worked his hands, so close as to breathed down the back of his neck, Galahad couldn’t fight his arousal, and bathed in the beautiful warmth, it was only magnified ten times over. Beneath the water, his cock strained and throbbed as though all the tension in his shoulders were relocating. He bit his lip. He had no doubt that if Tristan glanced over his shoulder he’d see it plainly. But maybe that would be alright, he supposed, smiling to himself.

“Do what you need,” came Tristan’s voice in his ear, altogether too calm for the situation. “It’s nice isn’t it? Best to get the most out of it."

Galahad swallowed, no longer smiling. “Do you mean?”

“Yes. It’s exquisite in the hot water; you’ll see.”

Galahad hesitated a second and then took his cock in his hand, feeling so surreal that his vision went hazy. The heat had drawn up all the blood, he was harder than usual and aching for release. His hand and his breath trembled as he started to pump himself.

“Mmhmm,” Tristan encouraged, still firmly rubbing his shoulders, but not speaking anymore.

Galahad quickened his pace, his cock hard as stone in his grip, thinking he couldn’t recall the last time it had felt so nice. Yet it was still perfectly absurd that Tristan was right behind him as he jerked himself, and he began to imagine that it was Tristan’s hand under the water. He had to wonder if Tristan was hard right behind him; God as his witness he would have let him bend him over and have him right there against the rocks. That thought was enough to send him over the edge.

“Fuck,” Galahad grunted as he burst, sending spurts of white into the water.

He rested his hand on the wall as he tried to steady his breathing. He felt ready to collapse and sleep for two days. Tristan was right; all the tension had vanished.

Tristan patted his shoulder. “Best not to stay in too long, or you’ll overheat.”

He said it like it was nothing, moving away from him again, as though nothing out of the ordinary had passed.

Galahad was still in a daze as they got dressed again. Tristan gave him some cool water to drink, and he found that it helped his head. As they mounted their horses and set off, he felt as though he’d dreamed the whole thing.

As they rode the rest of the day and through the evening, Galahad found himself more and more preoccupied with what could have been. If only he’d been bold enough to turn around in the water and seize Tristan by the shoulders and let their erections rub. He flushed at the thought, wondering if Tristan would have decked him in the teeth. Somehow, that seemed entirely unlikely.

Galahad’s shoulders were relaxed and beautifully sore where Tristan’s thumbs had rubbed. He hoped the spots would bruise.

***

Around a week had passed with no other memorable interactions, save for them huddled together for warmth at night, something that seemed to leave Tristan wholly unbothered. The air was growing colder still, and hunting was scarce. Galahad longed to be back in that hot spring day and night, riding weary on.

Huddled close to the flickering fire in the dark of night, desperate to absorb the warmth before it burnt out, Galahad realized he was not unhappy he’d come. In spite of the miserable conditions and lack of conversation, he relished falling asleep with Tristan’s warmth on his back.

At that moment, Tristan appeared and sat next to him by the fire pit, having put the pans away after supper. Galahad glanced over and realized there was a sizable gash on Tristan’s forearm, shiny and black in the moonlight. He remembered hearing Tristan swear earlier in the evening, but he hadn’t thought anything of it.

“What the devil happened to you?” he asked, eyeing it.

Tristan looked down. “Ah, the hunting knife. I slipped before.”

“Well, best cover it,” Galahad said, standing to retrieve a scrap of cloth from his packs, finding his wound salve there as well.

“It’s only a graze, really. I rinsed it.”

“Nonsense,” Galahad said, coming back over and sitting beside him. “I’ll not have that festering. Nothing like a fever to spoil all the fun.”

Tristan smirked and let him take hold of his arm. Galahad applied the ointment, scooping up just a bit with one finger and smearing it over the cut, then wrapped his arm in the torn cloth, tying it off. He felt a bit ridiculous afterward, like maybe he ought to kiss the spot, too, but he didn’t know if Tristan would find that funny.

A moment passed and they sat still and silent before the flames, no bugs or birds chirping in the cold night. Galahad thought he should turn in shortly. But then, Tristan’s hand was resting on his thigh. Galahad barely registered that he’d put it there, yet there it was, as though it were the most casual gesture in the world. He rubbed his hand across his pale flesh down to his knee.

Galahad almost scoffed. He had driven himself so mad with hope in the beginning, and now this? Was Tristan purposefully tormenting him?

“You’re cold,” Tristan observed.

Galahad said nothing. Tristan continued rubbing his leg, presumably under the guise of warming him. Galahad was quickly hard beneath his leather, and in a fit of impatience, took Tristan’s hand and placed it higher up on his leg, stopping just short of placing it on his cock. His gaze was steady. He was finished being toyed with.

Tristan paused a moment, then his steady knuckles found Galahad’s cock, stroking once, and Galahad gasped, his erection twitching under the touch. Tristan pulled away then, only to replace his hand with the other, facing Galahad and taking his cock flush in his palm and pulsing his fist for a moment.

Galahad’s body bloomed hot all over, cold air be damned, and tears pricked the corners of his eyes as Tristan began to pump him. His hand was calloused, but his grip was firm and his pace was steady. He moved Galahad’s skirt aside so he could see his hand working.

Tristan looked up, his eyes asking a silent question. Galahad nodded.

In an instant, Tristan was bent over his lap and the air was punched from Galahad’s lungs as warm lips teased the slick tip of his cock. Tristan tongued the slit and Galahad’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. His hands were shaking. Tristan took him into his mouth with so much ease, Galahad felt certain he’d done it before and smiled at the thought. He bucked his hips in response, grasping Tristan’s shoulder and fucking into that divine wet heat. The hot spring had been a joy, but nothing like the real thing. Galahad whined in falsetto through clenched teeth and let his eyes roll back as Tristan worked at a steady rhythm.

Tristan let his mouth slip off, Galahad’s cock springing free with a pop. He only paused a second and then moved farther down—Galahad only wondered for half a second what he was doing before he felt his tongue sweep across his balls. His hips jerked.

“Holy hell,” Galahad breathed, his eyes screwed shut.

Tristan hummed in approval, mouthing and licking his scrotum in a way that Galahad had never felt before. His cock leaked and strained in the harsh cold air, aching for Tristan’s mouth again. It wasn’t long before he dragged his tongue upward, continuing up the shaft, and taking him in full to the root again. Galahad signed with relief, dearly close now, his pulse hammering in his chest and throbbing below. He gripped Tristan’s hair.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” he muttered.

Tristan kept a steady pace, and Galahad whined and hissed like a man possessed as he felt that familiar final swell and bit down on his lip as he burst into Tristan’s mouth, releasing with such force that he tipped his head back and laughed.

Tristan hummed in pleasure as he swallowed, pressed a hot kiss to Galahad's thigh, then righted himself, sitting up straight and dragging a sleeve across his face. Galahad sat up, too, seized him by the shoulders and hauled him forward for a proper kiss on the mouth, which Tristan resumed with fervor. Galahad moved to straddle his lap, and Tristan trailed more kisses down his neck.

Galahad sighed. “I never knew if you wanted this.”

“Since we met,” Tristan said against his jaw.

“Oh, hell,” Galahad breathed, taking Tristan’s face in his hands and crashing their mouths together again. “Oh, you should have said.”

Galahad’s heart was thundering his chest still; everything that had happened was so surreal and now to be kissing him and to have their bodies pressed together, he felt he might die of happiness.

“You’re already hard again,” Tristan observed, a tinge of amusement in his voice.

“So I am,” Galahad chuckled. “And you? Shall I return the favor?”

Tristan nodded. “If you’d like to.”

Galahad whined against him, feeling a swell of boldness in his chest. He’d waited far too long for Tristan to want him like this.

“Do you know what I’d like?” he asked in a small whisper, his breath on Tristan’s ear.

“Tell me,” came Tristan’s calm reply.

“I want to ride you,” he admitted, finally, pivoting his hips. “I want you inside. Would you let me?’

Tristan’s hands came to rest on Galahad’s hips.

“Yes,” he muttered in reply, and for the first time his voice gave him away, cloudy with lust.

“Oh, hell,” Galahad said again, wasting no time in getting Tristan’s trousers undone.

He had him free shortly, taking his cock in his hand as Tristan had done for him. Tristan’s brow furrowed as he pumped him, and Galahad relished the sight of him coming undone under his touch.

“Since we met?” Galahad asked, stroking Tristan root to tip with a firm grasp.

Tristan nodded. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Galahad smiled and shook his head, cursing himself for not seizing the moment sooner. He scooted off of Tristan’s lap to lean over it—and abruptly there was perfectly erect cock in his face. Somehow he hadn't adequately prepared for this moment. Briefly overcome, he rubbed his nose along the shaft, humming as he did. He didn’t look up to see how Tristan reacted, instead swiftly taking that glorious cock into his mouth and swishing his tongue side to side. He heard Tristan’s breath hitch as his hips jerked beneath him, his own cock aching and his ass throbbing at the thought of what was soon to come.

Galahad righted himself, kneeling over Tristan’s lap once more, and they attempted to align themselves in the dim light of the flickering fire. When he felt the tip of Tristan’s cock pressing just right, he started to lower his body, and both men moaned in unison as the tip breached. But it refused to slide in any farther.

“It’s too tight,” Galahad lamented. He’d been too hasty; he knew he had. “Damn it.”

“We should have done this back in the hot spring,” Tristan mused.

“Fuck, Tristan, you could have had me then,” Galahad said, nostalgic for the warm pool.

“Here,” Tristan said, sitting up, “try lying in the grass, on your back.”

Galahad unmounted him, doing as he said, cautiously hopeful. “I don’t know if I can—”

Tristan held up the vile of salve Galahad had used to dress his wound. “Could this work?”

Galahad fought a smirk. “I suppose it could.”

Tristan slicked his fingers with it and pressed one gently inside, holding still for a moment. His eyes flickered with flame in the darkness. Galahad held his gaze and nodded. It didn’t feel nice quiet yet, but he wanted more.

Tristan worked him for a long while, adding more salve as he went and opening him until he could slip two fingers in with ease, spreading them inside. When he curled them forward, hitting that spot that sent delicious shocks through his body, Galahad’s hips jerked forward. He bit his lip to stop himself crying out.

“Have you done this before?” Tristan asked.

Galahad nodded. “It’s been a while.”

Tristan nodded back. “For me as well. Are you ready to try again?”

Galahad nodded again. “Yes, god, I’m ready.”

Tristan slicked more of the salve over his cock, and Galahad held his breath. He so dearly wanted to be full of that cock, to let Tristan fuck him deeply.

Galahad grasped his legs on cue and tucked them up against his chest as Tristan moved into place. He slid in agonizingly slowly, but with much more grace this time, drawing sharp gasps from them both. Tristan cautiously started to rock his hips and Galahad spread his legs farther still. It was tight still, but good—stunningly good.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Galahad said, quiet as a prayer, waves of scarlet bliss coursing through him with each motion of Tristan’s hips. He felt radiant.

Tristan whined against him and then pressed his lips to Galahad’s again. He quickened his pace. Galahad grunted in surprise.

“Too much?”

“No, no, don’t stop. Fuck me, Tristan.”

Tristan grunted in response, plowing into him with a fluid motion of his hips. Galahad’s cock was straining, pinned between them, and he so wished they were naked, that he might feel Tristan’s skin against his own. But he knew he would come on Tristan’s cock alone.

Tristan’s whole body jerked. They were both close.

Galahad didn’t want it to be over so quickly, wanted Tristan to fuck him 'til morning, but then he was coming in spurts across his upturned skirt, craning his neck and moaning with relief, uncaring anymore of his volume. Tristan was close behind, riding it out and bursting into him, and once more Galahad laughed with pleasure.

Tristan collapsed onto him and they lied still for a while, panting in relief.

Galahad drifted to sleep in Tristan’s arms that night, curling into his chest as he’d so long imagined doing, letting the world fade away until all that was left was Tristan and his scent and his heartbeat.

***

Galahad awoke under an ethereal twilight to find himself lying alone, Tristan up and packing for the day’s ride. He’d slept harder than he had for the full journey, out like a snuffed candle. He had a fleeting fear that Tristan might resume acting as though nothing had changed, or that in the light of day he might regret all they had done, but his anxieties vanished when Tristan smiled at him.

He came over and sat next to him, and Galahad turned to face him. Tristan was brilliant under the sky’s pre-dawn glow, somehow more beautiful than Galahad had ever known him to be. His eyes seemed kinder, or more fond, perhaps.

“I thought I’d let you rest a while,” Tristan said.

Galahad nodded, the breeze knocking his curls about. His voice was suddenly seized from him. One of the horses snorted.

“Will you walk with me before we go? I’d like you to see something.”

“Yes, of course,” Galahad said, maybe somewhat too eagerly.

The two of them rose and Galahad accompanied Tristan to a nearby hill, which he realized they were ascending. It was a steep hike upward and the wind was strong and crisp, beating the life back into his bones. He found himself sore from the previous night in a wholly pleasant way, smiling to himself as they climbed.

At the top, Tristan let his arms encircle Galahad's waist from behind. “You’ll want to face this way,” he said, turning him.

The easterly view offered an unobstructed view of the horizon, and Galahad knew why they had come. His heart fluttered to be in Tristan’s arms again. As far out as he could see, stretching all the way to the softly glowing line of the sky, were rolling green hills and treetops. Something about standing up so high in early in the morning made the world below seem so magnificent, yet so simple.

Dawn broke as they stood witness, painting the fields and treetops yellow, beckoning the songbirds to rise. The sky above took on radiant hues of rose and amber and blush. Ever one for grand entrances, the sun reached out its many arms and woke up the clouds, streaking the sky with with golden tongues of light.

Galahad could not recall a more serene sight, and his chest swelled to think that Tristan had wished to share this perfect beauty with him. All at once, he knew beyond any sliver of doubt that Tristan truly cared for him in the same way he did.

“Thank you,” Galahad said, soft and earnest, the words wholly inadequate.

Tristan clutched Galahad’s back to his chest, his breath hot on his ear. “Thank you for coming with me.”


End file.
